


Selfish

by BarPurple



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gossip, Mentions of past stalking, Misunderstandings, No happy ending here, Remix, Rumour, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: Belle loves taking photos, but the number of times a certain person appears in them is starting to unnerve her.Please take note of the tags. This is not a happy story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Selfies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8891890) by [BarPurple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple). 



Belle frowned at the photo she’d just taken; he was there in the background again. Granny’s was a public place, but this was creepy. She took a deep breath and turned on her heel, it was past time that she dealt with Mister Gold.

_Belle snapped this morning’s view from her window with a smile. For almost a full year now she had taken a photo from her apartment window at 7:15 am, the view of Main Street and the sea in the distance was one of her favourites, the slideshow she was making of these shots looked great already. Her eyes flicked to the bottom right of the picture, the figure there made her sigh. When she’d first noticed the man on the corner by the pawnshop in her photos she’d been amused. In a town where everyone knew everything about each other Mister Gold was an enigma, he owned most of the property and the pawnshop, but other than that he was an unknown quantity. After a few more mornings Belle spotted the tell-tale red glow of a cigarette in his hand and the cloud of smoke around his head. It gave her a guilty thrill that she now knew something about Mister Gold that the rest of the town did not; he had a sneaky smoke every morning before he opened his shop._

_After three months of him appearing in the corner of her scenic view the thrill of her titbit of information had faded, after six months his presence there made her uneasy. This wasn’t the only photo he appeared in, she took a lot of selfies around town and in far too many of them Mister Gold could be seen in the background with a faint smile on his face. Seeing how uncomfortable his unexplained appearances were making her, Ruby had declared him Belle’s personal photo bomber in an attempt to make a joke of the whole thing._

_It worked for a while; Belle even started tagging the pictures #GoldenPhotoBomb when she shared them online, but the uneasy feeling never really went away._

 

Gold spluttered on his coffee as Miss French stalked across the diner towards him. He moped at his chin with a napkin and tried to compose himself.

“Good afternoon, Miss French. What can I do for you?”

He flinched as she threw her phone on to the counter by his elbow.

“I was wondering if you like copies of all my photos you are in, Mister Gold. I hope you’ve got a flash drive, there are an awful lot of them.”

Gold gave her a weak smile; “You are quite the shutterbug Miss French.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat in the face of Miss French’s angry face. She scooped her phone from the counter and jabbed at the screen with her thumbs.

“Why are you stalking me?”

“I…I’m not.”

The look of disbelief she gave him made him shrink back in his seat.

“I beg to differ. I have a year’s worth of pictures and you are in far too many to be coincidence.”

He rallied and pulled a stern looked on to his face.

“Miss French, Storybrooke is a small town. I imagine the Mayor and the Sheriff are in just as many of your pictures as I am.”

“Hah! I thought you might say that! I tag everyone; look at the numbers Mister Gold.”

She shoved the phone into his hand, he was reluctant to take his eyes off the furious woman in front of him, but he glanced down at the screen. A frown creased his brow as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at; the names of half a dozen townsfolk with a bracketed number next to them. The number must be the amount of pictures each person was tagged in, the number next to his name was the highest after Miss French and her closest friends. The phone was snatched from his hand; Miss French was glaring at him waiting for an explanation. He focused on his fingers and said quietly: “I like watching you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

His head snapped up and his hands fluttered uselessly in the air as he tried to reassure her.

“I mean I like seeing you around town, you’re always so happy and friendly and I like you, erm I…I mean I like that about you.”

He dropped his head before he saw the expected look of disgust on her face. Around them the silence in the busy diner was deafening. Gold picked up his cane and slipped awkwardly from his seat his eyes firmly on the floor. Miss French’s shoes stepped out of his line of sight, but he could still feel her eyes on him. Without raising his head he said; “I shall endeavour to avoid you in the future Miss French.”

Once he had moved by her he raised his head and tried to walk out of the diner with a little dignity, every gaze from the stunned patrons cutting at his tattered pride like razor blades.

 

The familiar smoking shadow disappeared from the corner of Belle’s morning picture. Gold wasn’t seen in town for a week, the pawnshop remained closed, and his library books were returned via the night deposit slot. His withdrawal from the world and the heated confrontation that caused it was the subject of gossip for a few days, but with no fresh information the talk soon dwindled away. Dove collected the rent that month, which everyone was rather pleased about because while he was intimidating in stature he was a gentle soul. 

Time past and nobody gave Mister Gold a single thought, until the day a lawyer appeared in the library looking for Belle. She closed the library early that day and leaned against the locked door shaking, the hand written letter clutched to her chest.

_Dear Miss French,_

_It occurred to me that I never offered an apology for the discomfort my presence caused you. Please allow me to correct that oversight now; I am whole heartedly sorry. I confess I did ensure I was near you as often as possible. I foolishly thought my actions had gone unnoticed. I had no ill intentions, I simply enjoyed seeing you going about you day. You are pure sunshine and light, always ready with a warm smile and a kind word. You are friendly towards everyone, but you were the only person who extended that kindness towards me, I hope you will forgive me for selfishly wanting to stand in your light as often as I could._

_By now my lawyer will have explained that I have left Storybrooke. The library is yours, a gift from a lonely man who you were once kind too, or if you would rather, compensation for my stalking, however you choose to view it the library could be in no better hands than yours._

_Good bye Belle,_

_Gold_

Belle looked around the library that was now hers. It was exactly what she had always dreamed of, owning a library like this, but this isn’t how she imagined it would happen. A faint sob echoed around the empty library.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Mister Gold,

I’m going to start with an explanation. I was stalked in college. A man I hardly knew decided that he wanted me in his life and would not accept my refusal. I don’t want to discuss the details, but the situation escalated and only ended when the police became involved.

Past experiences colour our future interactions, no matter how much we might not want them to. I swore to myself I would never be that scared again, so I jumped to a conclusion about you and went on the offensive in an attempt to defend myself. I am ashamed that I did not let you explain your actions and I am sorry to have made you feel that you had to leave town.

Please don’t stay away from Storybrooke on my account.

Hoping to see you back in town soon,  
Belle French.

 

Dear Mister Gold,

Your lawyer has assured me that he delivered my letter. You perhaps thought me rude for not mentioning your gift of the library; I had hoped to be able to discuss your gift with you in person. It is so far beyond generous that I doubt I would ever be able to thank you properly. I don’t want to appear ungrateful, you had handed me a lifelong dream, but I feel I cannot keep it because of the circumstances in which it was given. You had nothing to apologise for. 

If you have no plans to return to town, please can we arrange a meeting so we can talk about the library’s future?

I look forward to hearing from you soon,  
Belle.

 

Dear Mister Gold,

I have no idea if you are reading these letters, but I will continue to write them. Your lawyer has explained at some length that there is no easy way to return your gift. I can’t find it in myself to close the library until you speak to me, so I am considering myself your caretaker for the place and shall be sending you regular updates on the collection and day to day running. 

From the fund you have entrusted me with I have purchased three new sets of the Harry Potter books. These are incredibly popular with the children and the old set had been read to pieces. I am considering having a Story Afternoon, what do you think? Do you think the children would enjoy taking part in a dramatic reading of their favourite stories?

Please find enclosed copies of the receipts for the purchase of the books.  
Yours Belle

 

_Seven months latter_

Belle was hiking through the woods, trying to work out some of her lingering frustration. Months had passed since Gold left town because of her accusation. Twice a month she had written him a letter trying to get him to engage with her over the running of the library, but she’d not received a single reply. She’d questioned Dove, the only man who really knew Gold, only to find that he was only in touch with the lawyer. Belle angrily swiped at a hanging branch, that bloody lawyer! She’d taken to calling him John Snow because he knew nothing, or at least wouldn’t tell her anything.

She heard the rumble of an engine as she reached the place where the hiking track crossed the road. Still half hidden by the trees she watched as a black Cadillac rolled by. It was a very distinctive car; she would have known whose it was without the glimpse of the driver. Gold was back in town.

She hit the road and broke into a jog, the bottle of water in her light backpack sloshing with every step. This road was a dead end with no turnings, so there was a good chance she’d find Gold somewhere along the way and finally be able to have a long overdue conversation with him.

When she reached the parked car she mentally kicked herself. In her hurry she’d forgotten what lay at the end of this road, the old cemetery. There was a remote chance that Gold was here to meet someone, but it was more likely that he was here in remembrance of someone departed. Belle chewed her lip as she rocked from foot to foot. It would be the height of bad manners to interrupt him in the cemetery. Even if she had a pen and paper with her there would be little point in leaving him a note, he’d shown no interest in communicating in writing. She set her shoulders as she decided to wait by his car. If he still wouldn’t speak with her then she wouldn’t force the matter, but she felt she had to try.

Belle spent twenty minutes working through her cool down exercises to avoid a cramp. The activity calmed her while she thought of exactly what she wanted to say to Gold. She had almost got her thoughts in order when the gunshot rang out.


	3. Chapter 3

The gunshot acted on Belle like a starter’s pistol, from a standing start she hit a full run in two strides only to slow a little when she entered the cemetery. She wasn’t sure which way Gold had gone. The old cemetery didn’t get much in the way of care from the town, apart from the odd mowing, that hadn’t happened recently and Belle was able to spot the bend stems that pointed Gold’s route for her. She raced along the path he had trod and all but holding her breath as her ears strained for any sounds of life. She heard nothing but the pounding of her own heart.

She tripped over something leaning against one of the gravestones; her forehead grazed the stone as she landed heavily on all fours. Before she could turn to see what she’d tripped over she saw the gun on the ground in front of her. Panic rendered Belle immobile, she wanted to turn her head to the left, but she was too scared to because some deep instinct within her was telling her that she wasn’t ready to see whatever it was lurking on the edge of her vision. Her hand reached out to touch the gun, she knew she shouldn’t but in this moment she needed to feel it under her hand to believe the evidence of her own eyes. It was solid; it was real, as real as the pool of blood that had slowly been creeping towards her. 

Belle pushed herself to her feet and stepped around the gravestone. It took so much effort but she forced herself to turn to the left. At the far side of the blood pool lay Mister Gold, his eyes staring vacantly up at the sky. Someone was screaming, they didn’t stop until Belle staggered away and vomited, only then did she connect the sound with herself. It was the last coherent thought she had for a while.

A panicked phone call, sirens and flashing lights, calm but firm hands lifting her up, a gentle lilting accent telling her ridiculous things, more bright lights, a sharp scratch, than sleep.

She woke to the sound of Sherriff Graham talking softly with Doctor Whale.

“…self-defence from the looks of things.”

“Why would he attack her?”

“Well, he was stalking her a few months ago, these things do escalate unfortunately.”

Belle wanted to tell them that they were wrong, but the sedative she’d been given still had too strong a grip on her mind. She drifted back into an unpleasant sleep.  
By the time she woke and gave her statement to Graham the town was already buzzing with the false rumours that Gold had lured her out to the cemetery and attacked her, according to the grapevine she had fought him for his gun and shot him in self-defence. It didn’t matter that her statement contradicted this version of events, it didn’t matter that on closer inspection the evidence supported her, the town had its truth and wasn’t letting it go. Belle had a shouting match with Sidney Glass after he ran a lurid front page story about Mister Gold’s death, a retraction was published the next day, but it was such a small piece that most people ignored it, those who did read it dismissed it out of hand as some sort of legal ass-covering move by the paper.

Belle walked around Storybrooke like a ghost for the next two weeks. The town she had called home was a strange and scary place to her now. People tried to talk to her, but they only wanted confirmation of Gold’s perceived crime, nobody cared for the truth, nobody understood that she had witnessed a man’s death, nobody could grasp that she felt responsible; if she had been more open about the fact that Gold hadn’t been stalking her, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

No note was found in Mister Gold’s personal affects, his death was ruled a suicide. He had left this life, but he had left nothing but questions in his wake. His lawyer quietly made arrangements for a burial in the old cemetery, next to the grave where he had ended his life, the grave of his son as Belle later found out. She was the only person who attended the simple service; the Sherriff kept everyone else away. Gold had left his properties to the sitting tenants, Belle found people’s glee that they were free of their landlord distasteful. The day of Gold’s funeral was practically a celebration in town; it was then that she decided she had to leave.

Storybrooke Library closed three weeks after what the town referred as the ‘Gold Incident’. The building on the corner of Main Street mouldered and fell into decay. Years passed; the children of the town expanded and exaggerated the tale they half heard from their parents; The Beauty, who loved books, was stalked by the Beast who she finally killed. It became a legend, a ghost story, a fairy tale, and nobody remembered the old man who felt blessed by a kind woman’s smiles, or the misunderstanding that resulted in tragedy.


End file.
